


flame

by grossly



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, might have manga spoilers? idk, tokyo training camp arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossly/pseuds/grossly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing, Kozume-san?” Ennoshita asks.</p><p>Kozume starts a little, as if he hadn’t realised Ennoshita had been there all along. Bright, crystalline gold flits up, then back down to the ground, like a hummingbird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toffeepotatoes (inberin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inberin/gifts).



> this was supposed to be a thank you treat, but it became super self indulgent? idk im sorry. thank you for the gift, it was really lovely and i really liked it!! also did you notice the little cycle of gifts like  
> me -> nancy -> you -> me  
> idek this is super raw and idk what im doing im sorry are they even in character? im sorry i cant tell ive lost it completely  
> also thanks to lark for entertaining my weird question about kenma tho idk if i applied it here... darn it im sorry  
> this is sorta inspired by lark's ennoken? which was the only ennoken at the time in point of creation... tho there's a new one now which i'm halfway through and it makes me realise things?? and i'm like, RAGRETS but whatever yolo dudes

Ennoshita stumbles out onto sun-baked concrete, holding a small towel in one hand and swatting away dopey mosquitoes with the other. He lets out a soft huff, dabbing at the sweat collecting at his brow with his towel. He squints down at the two huddled over figures on the ground, casting shadows on pieces of watermelon rind. There is a flash of gold, radiant and clear, and then it is gone.

 

“Akaashi-san,” Ennoshita calls. The taller figure tilts his head up in a small acknowledgement. “Ennoshita-san.”

 

“Our game is starting soon, so,” Ennoshita begins.

 

“Ah,” Akaashi nods. “Thanks.” He rises slowly, palms pressing against his thighs. His fingers brush against black fabric, so soft and fleeting that it makes Ennoshita wonder if the touch was accidental. It’s not.

 

Akaashi strides back onto warm wooden strips, tiny squeaks punctuating each step. Ennoshita makes to follow, but pauses.

 

A small breeze dances past, and Ennoshita sees pale yellow strands swaying along. They glint, almost silver in the sunlight, and against the deep blue of the summer sky, a vision flashes across his mind – a school of silver sprats, something he once saw while channel surfing and had stopped to watch simply because he was mesmerised by the thousands of darting silver flecks, and the way they had made him feel miniscule yet infinite at the same time.

 

The shouts and thuds and bumps coming from the gymnasium feel far away, as distant as the incessant chirping of the cicadas, like there is an invisible glass barrier between him and the rest of the world. The rustling is close. The wind is always close, as close as the sun.

 

“What are you doing, Kozume-san?” Ennoshita asks.

 

Kozume starts a little, as if he hadn’t realised Ennoshita had been there all along. Bright, crystalline gold flits up, then back down to the ground, like a hummingbird.

 

“Watching the ants,” he mumbles, pointedly looking away. Ennoshita cocks his head, then casts his gaze onto the watermelon rinds. He focuses, and – oh. There they are, a little black trail, marching along the small cracks in the expanse of grey and among the bumps in the red and green chunks.

 

They kind of remind him of Kozume, in the way they do amazing things, have the strength of a thousand men, without anyone noticing, without being spared a mere second glance.

 

“I see,” Ennoshita says, then he hears his name being called, and heads back into the gymnasium.

 

-

 

After that encounter, Ennoshita’s gaze is naturally drawn to the background – he is a part of it, after all. Always there, lingering, lingering, in the shadows. It’s a somewhat comforting thought. A perch, a safe haven, far away from the hustle and bustle of brilliance and risk and growth and –

 

Kozume, he finds, is teetering at the edge. Toeing the line. Most times, he blends into the nothingness, the curtain of hair hiding his stunning irises, resisting, resisting, resisting. But sometimes the light – the sun – grasps hold of him and his eyes light up, and Ennoshita can see bursts of amber deep within the liquid gold, like little meteors blazing into ephemeral incandescence, dying out with tiny flickers.

 

He watches Kozume from the shadows and, he realises, he is just a tad bit envious. He finds himself wanting to bask in the glow of glory, of trying. He wants to fail and fail and cry in anguish, to rinse, lather and repeat, until he gets it right. Until he can’t get it wrong. To move and move forward, never stopping, never stagnant.

 

It is a little too quiet here. A little too still. It is so, so dark, so placid and hushed and dull. His fingers twitch, ache for the familiar heft of the ball, ache for the warm and damp fabric, a sturdy back against his palm, the familiar buzz of words he can’t tell apart coming from his lips. He straightens his back, longing for the strain of its arch as he is suspended in the air for a fraction of a second –

 

Ennoshita doesn’t want to be left behind.

 

He wants out.

 

-

 

As circumstances would have it, Ennoshita and Kozume are the first ones in the bath that evening. Ennoshita blinks when he sees Kozume, eyes closed, head lolled back against the tiled wall, but he’s not surprised. Steam rises from the water surrounding him, shrouding him in a white veil.

 

It looks serene. Faint shouts from somewhere below them skim the air, barely making a dent in the silence around them. Ennoshita heads over to the showers, his wash basket and a towel in hand.

 

“You’ve been watching me,” Kozume says without preamble. Ennoshita glances up from the stool he’s settled on, but says nothing. Kozume’s eyes are still closed, but there’s a subtle crinkle in between his eyebrows that wasn’t there before.

 

“You and I,” Kozume continues, slow and deliberate. There’s a tinge of frustration in his voice, just a bit, in his otherwise bland voice, as if he’s trying not to reveal himself to Ennoshita. “We’re not the same. There’s a fire lit in you. That fire’s not in me.”

 

Ennoshita lets the words settle onto his skin for a moment. The yelling has quelled, giving way to the cicadas. Their cries ring clear in the night, a steady heartbeat of the calm, something that can only be heard in the quiet. Ennoshita wonders if they will ever stop. It would be unsettling if they did.

 

“Like you said,” Ennoshita says, each word well-placed and clear, “I’ve been watching you.”

 

There’s a swish of water as Kozume sits up. His face is slightly red from the heat, and locks of ombre hair are plastered onto the side of his face and neck. Ennoshita knows he’s waiting for more, for him to continue. The gold is slightly clouded, as if the steam from the bath unfurled itself into the two orbs, and it’s rather precious, like a four-leaved clover in a field of blooming blossoms.

 

Ennoshita offers him an odd combination of a smile and a smirk, and turns back to face the showerhead. He hears Kozume’s huff as he twists the knob and the water comes on, but Kozume doesn’t pursue it.

 

-

 

Ennoshita hears about the results of the match between Nekoma and Fukurodani after, through Hinata’s garbled exclamations and wild gesticulations.

 

If this year hadn’t been the very year in which Tokyo would host the Nationals, would send out three representatives, it would’ve been game over for them. A missed opportunity. End of story. No more chances. Ennoshita knows this, but the realisation surely weighs upon the team in question so much more heavily, like lead sinking into their chests.

 

His thoughts wander to Kozume, to the bursts of amber, to the swish of water and the sweaty face – the apple red flush of his cheeks and the hint of confusion and curiosity and interest were rather satisfying; being something the all-knowing, always-watching Kozume couldn’t figure out even for just a bit is, he thinks, something he can take pride in –

 

He thinks of the sun, and he wonders if this – this will be the spark that will ignite Kozume’s flame.

 

It’s all rather exciting. He can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> twit @ennonoyes


End file.
